


the sky falls

by emmacortana



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Character Study, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker is a Mess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-13 16:40:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29529303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmacortana/pseuds/emmacortana
Summary: Sometimes, he can almost believe that it’s not himself that is plummeting, but the sky. That he is actually rising against it. But those are the worst falls—the tricking ones. If he wanted to rise, he would swing from buildings in Queens. He took a subway to Manhattan because he wants is to feel the weight of the sky press on his back. He hates it when the sky refuses him this, that when he’s denied even this, those are truly his worst days.He’s happy to find that today is not one of those days.
Relationships: May Parker (Spider-Man) & Peter Parker, Peter Parker & Tony Stark, but also not rlly, but not rlly lmao
Comments: 1
Kudos: 7





	the sky falls

**Author's Note:**

> This is v short and cranked out in like fifteen minutes honest to god jesus christ it was just kinda stuck in my head. TW for NOT great mental health. Peter isn’t suicidal or anything—he just feels curious. Unhealthily fascinated with freefalling. It’s still yikes tho so stay safe kweens.

He’s on the highest ledge of the Empire Staye Building, head tilted back to look at the sky. There’s a brutal chill in the air but he refuses to turn his suit’s heater on—he doesn’t want to miss anything. He wants to feel everything.

Today was one of the numb days, and Peter needs to feel something. The small, cold spark in his core spurs him, as he sits on the very edge, far enough that a gasp could topple him over.

He doesn’t jump off, or dive, or fall backwards like they seem to do in movies. He simply.... lets go.

It’s the feeling of falling, that he loved so much. The turning of his stomach, the weightlessness. The moment where, at first, it feels as if he’s floating—and then he’s pushed down with the gravity of the sky forcing against him. It’s the feeling of falling. A leap of faith, only faith is not what he is testing.

Peter is testing himself.

He falls and falls. Time seems to speed up and slow down. When he’s falling, so carelessly as this, he sometimes feels the weight of clouds brush against him. The wind pushed violently against him, and he knows he’ll be red and tender all over tomorrow. But today he feels like falling.

Sometimes, he can almost believe that it’s not himself that is plummeting, but the sky. That he is actually rising against it. But those are the worst falls—the tricking ones. If he wanted to rise, he would swing from buildings in Queens. He took a subway to Manhattan because he wants is to feel the weight of the sky press on his back. He hates it when the sky refuses him this, that when he’s denied even this, those are truly his worst days.

He’s happy to find that today is not one of those days.

Mathematically, he knows that he needs to count 7 seconds until he should catch himself, swing away on his webs. He is falling 1454 feet exactly, and he’d done the calculations before, and he had done it enough to know how to give himself less and less time to shoot out his saving line. He knows the wind today, knows that it will resist him enough to push it past 7. The jerk of the webs would be enough to tear his shoulder just enough for him to feel it for the next few days. A welcome reminder, really, of the weight of falling.

He would swing back home, crawl in through the fire escape to find May sheepishly waving smoke out of the kitchen. He would text Mr. Stark that he made it back home without being stabbed, and the man would send a thumbs up emoji like all the other thumbs up emojis he’d replied, every night before. He would watch Star Wars for the millionth time to sleep, quoting every line to himself. He just had to swing. To catch himself.

He counts to nine.

He waits until the last possible moment, when he can almost feel his breath touch the concrete. And at the very last millisecond, when he can feel the crash coming, he briefly wonders what it would feel like to just let go.

It’s not that he wants to die—although some days he feels lost in the point of it all. It’s rather the wondering, the  what ifs . How far can he push it? How close to the ground can he come? What if he just... let go?

Weightless.

He has to swing soon, if that’s what he wants to do. The feeling of swinging has its own kind of weightlessness to it, but it’s nothing compared to the real thing. It’s enough, on some days. It’s enough to feel his stomach turn and the wind rage against his body. The feeling of stretching out his limbs for the first time.

But other days, it’s not. Other days, he doesn’t feel anything until he feels his blood sing as he falls closer and closer to the ground.

To play chicken with the unforgiving ground, that will break every bone in his body.

He counts to ten, and then swings.

**Author's Note:**

> Hrkshrk this is not my fave but they can’t all be winners. Tbqh where i am concerned, literally none can be winners. But whatever, i thought, i wrote, i conquered. Bye


End file.
